


The Language of Your Skin

by MidnightDelirium



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I don’t know what I am doing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25794439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightDelirium/pseuds/MidnightDelirium
Summary: They were on the run the first time he saw them. The delicate swirls of ink on his Master skin, forming into beautiful flowers and vines.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 31
Kudos: 140





	The Language of Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I am not a writer, but I wanted to have a backstory for a couple of drawings I did after a discussion on the Qui/Obi discord.  
> This was not beta’d so read at your own risk. I gave you fair warning.  
> Also, this is my first work, so I’m not sure how the tagging and all that work yet. If you see something wrong, or if I need to add more warning, please let me know.

They were on the run the first time he saw them. The delicates swirls of ink on his Master skin, forming into beautiful flowers and vines. He hadn’t dared ask about them. They had barely escaped the bounty hunters’ trap. His Master needed all the rest he can get, not answering prying questions from impertinent Padawans. Especially not so soon after the mess of Melina/Daan. Still, he could not help but sneak glances at his master exposed forearm, the sleeve torn to shreds during the chase through the dense forest. When they settled down for some rest that night, Obi-Wan volunteered for first watch. He kept his senses on their surrounding, yet his eyes never left his Master’s arm.

———————————————————————

The next time he saw them was two months later, back at their quarters on Coruscant. Qui-Gon preferred to remove most of his outer layers when they were home, but even then, his master still wore long sleeves. Yet this time, Qui-Gon was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, kneading away at a ball of dough. Both things were so alien to Obi-Wan. He stood transfixed, staring at the shifting of muscles and inks. He could make them out much better now. They started at Qui-Gon’s left wrist, thorny green vines wrapping up around his forearm, branching off to a blossom here and there, then disappeared into the folds of his sleeve. He could not identify the species of the vines nor the blossoms. None looked like any he had encountered or seen from his classes. Another mystery about Master Qui-Gon Jinn that Obi-Wan had yet to decipher. He wondered how many were given the privilege of seeing these marks or knowing their meaning.

“Something interest you, Padawan?” Qui-Gon’s voice jolted him out of his stupor.

“Apologies, Master. I had not known that you can cook,” Obi-Wan replied with a grin.

“Haha! Very funny,” Qui-Gon huffed.

“Well, you can burn water, Master. The whole temple knows this.”

“That was one time. And anyway, this is not cooking. This is baking. And baking I can do quite well,” Qui-Gon said.

“In that case, may I be of assistance, Master?”

“Perhaps next time. I am almost finished here. And you had just finished your exams. Go relax. And that is an order.”

“Yes, Master. But you’ll call me if you need me?”

Qui-Gon looked up fully at that and gave him a small smile. Obi-Wan lived for these smiles, given so rarely. “Yes, I will, my Padawan.” At his master’s words, Obi-Wan left the kitchen, but his mind remained on his master for the rest of the night.

———————————————————————

Sighting of the tattoos was much more common after that. It was as if a barrier had been broken. His master seemed more comfortable with baring his body, even if it was only his arms. Obi-Wan had seen the tattoos enough to recreate them in his mind, down to the last gentle stroke and dusting of color. He knew that they covered Qui-Gon’s entire left arm, up to his deltoid. He knew that there are five blossoms, all of different shapes and colors. The only thing he still not known was their meanings. He meant to ask Qui-Gon so many times, but his courage always failed at the last moment. He thought his master would have already told him if he had wished to share the information. Qui-Gon had never hesitated to share before, and perhaps these tattoos were where Qui-Gon drew the line. Obi-Wan told himself that after his knighting, he would ask his master about them, as an equal. He hoped Qui-Gon would deem him worthy enough to know.

———————————————————————

It was on Tatooine many years later that he got his wish granted, though not in the way he had wanted. His master had collected another pathetic life form, adding to the clumsy Gungan they had already acquired. While inconvenient at times, Obi-Wan loved this habit of Qui-Gon, not that he would ever let his master know. He had been the pathetic life form once, granted life and purpose again by the kindness of this Jedi master. He cannot find it in himself to begrudge Anakin for having his master's attention. The boy was so alone now.

Obi-Wan found them now, sitting in the ship's small kitchen, eating and chatting amicably. Obi-Wan watched them from the shadow of the doorway, not wanting to disrupt the moment just yet.

“Why do you have plants on your arm?” Anakin asked. At this, Obi-Wan took a closer look. His master's arm was entirely exposed.

“They are reminders, for the people that are important to me,” Qui-Gon answered, not a hint of hesitation in his voice.

“How do they do that? They are just flowers. People can’t be flowers,” Anakin scrunched up his nose and shot Qui-Gon a skeptical look.

“You are right. People can’t be flowers,” Qui-Gon said, a soft chuckle escaped him at Anakin’s expression. “But these flowers have meanings. And I associate those meanings to people.”

“So who is this?” Anakin pointed to the first blossom, closest to Qui-Gon’s wrist.

“That is a purple iris, it stands for wisdom. It is for Master Yoda. He is one of the wisest and most powerful Jedi. Many come to him for council, including myself. He was also the one to found me when I was but a babe.”

“And this?” Anakin pointed to the second blossom now.

“It is a yellow daffodil. It means new beginning and rebirth. I got it for my Master, who gave me a new life by his side as a Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, then point to Anakin’s bowl. “You should finish your dinner. You had an exciting day, and it is close to bedtime.”

“But I want to know the rest of the flowers,” Anakin said excitedly. “Please.”

“Alright. But if I tell you about the remaining flowers, you will finish your dinner and then head straight to bed. Deal?” At Anakin’s enthusiastic nodding, Qui-Gon smiled and point to the third flower. “This is a yellow alstroemeria. It stands for joy and happiness, the emotions I felt when I took on my first apprentice, Feemor.”

Qui-Gon paused after this, taking a moment to trace over the fourth flower before speaking. “This is a blue hydrangea. There are many different meanings for this flower, but I originally chose it for pride and prosperity. Everything Xanatos, my second Padawan, was to me.” It could have been a trick of the light, but Obi-Wan was confident tears were shining in his master’s eyes. He wanted to go and offer comfort, but kept his place, lest Qui-Gon stopped talking about the flowers.

Lastly, Qui-Gon lightly traced over the remaining blossom. “This is a pink camellia. A flower for someone who is loved and missed. I got it for,” Qui-Gon paused and clear his throat. Obi-Wan held his breath. He dared not hope. But could it be—“for Tahl”—and his hopes shattered. Qui-Gon did not elaborate further. He just urged Ani to finished his food, but Obi-Wan was not paying attention. He retreated from his spot and walked away. He walked past his and his master's shared room and kept on walking.

———————————————————————

Obi-wan sat by Qui-Gon’s bedside. The past month had been a blur. The Sith had attacked during the invasion of Naboo, almost slew Qui-Gon. That gave Obi-Wan the push he needed to end the fight. And his master. His stubborn master had held on. Just long enough for Obi-Wan to get him to the medical ward.

Time did not exist to Obi-Wan then. He only recalled the all-consuming panic and his desperate hold on their training bond, urging Qui-Gon to stay. Stay for him. Stay for Anakin. Stay for the two boys that adored him. And Qui-Gon did.

One month had passed, and Qui-Gon slept on. The healer said that Qui-Gon was in a healing trance. That he would wake when his body was ready. Obi-Wan hoped it would be soon. The Council had deemed his fight against the Sith as his trial. He was to be sent out in two days. To join the galaxy as a Jedi Knight. But he was not ready yet. Not ready to let go of his place next to his master.

Obi-Wan had visited Qui-Gon every day. Not at the beginning of each day as he had wanted. He had his duties, to the Order and Anakin. Qui-Gon would not have wanted him to brush them aside. So Obi-Wan went about his day, did what was asked of him, and then, after Anakin was put to bed, he would go to Qui-Gon.

The healers no longer tried to stop him from staying pass the normal visitation time. Perhaps they pitied his appearance—the perpetual bags under his eyes and the slumps in his shoulders that only seemed to lessen when he was with Qui-Gon.

Like all the previous nights, Obi-Wan sat in his chair, pulled up close to Qui-Gon’s left side, and took his arm. Slowly, he traced his master tattoos, starting from the wrist and ending at the crook of his elbow. He kept his touch light, fingers barely grazing Qui-Gon’s skin. After a while, his touch would grow bolder, drawing across each petal in firmer strokes.

It seemed so trivial now, his disappointment after learning of the tattoos’ meanings. It had hurt so much then, like a slash across his heart. But he would willingly endure a billion more if his master would just wake up.

“They had always fascinated you,” a familiar voice murmured, so softly Obi-Wan thought he imagined it. He dragged his eyes up, and there, staring back at him were Qui-Gon’s beautiful eyes. He choked, throat too constricted for air, let alone speaking. “I always thought you would ask me about them, but you never did.”

“I...,” Obi-Wan forced a swallow and lower his head. “I did not think it was my place.”

“If not yours, then who?”

“Please, Master, now is not the time. You must rest.”

“The healers had already cleared me. I am perfectly healthy. Only slightly sore and dehydrated.” Obi-Wan looked up sharply, mouth opened, ready to protest. “I told them not to call you. I knew you would come to me when you are ready.” Obi-Wan looked back down again. He did not want his master to see his upset. “None of that,” Qui-Gon chastised gently and gave him a gentle squeeze. Only then did Obi-Wan realized that he still clung to his master’s hand. He made to pull away, but Qui-Gon held on. “Now, what about these tattoos that fascinate you so? I’m sure you have seen many more exotic ones.”

“It was just unexpected is all, Master. And I,” Obi-Wan paused, not sure if he should reveal this. “I overheard you with Ani, so I know what they mean now. I am sorry for the intrusion, Master.”

“You know very well I did not mind you listening. I would have said something if I did. But that does not answer my question, Padawan. Something is still bothering you.” There was an edge to Qui-Gon’s tone. His master stubbornness was showing, and Obi-Wan was too tired to resist.

“You will not let this go, will you?” Obi-Wan looked up again, and at Qui-God’s glare, he sighed. “I just wished that...”

“That?”

“It is not very Jedi of me, Master. But I just wished that there was one for me too.” Obi-Wan averted his gaze and went to pull his hand from Qui-Gon. But once more, his master held on. Then, he heard it. It was the barest of a whisper, but he heard it. A soft laugh. When Obi-Wan looked at him, Qui-Gon was smiling. His master left eye was slightly more squinted, a sign Obi-Wan came to recognized as Qui-Gon’s true mirth and not the polite smile he reserved for the snobbiest of politicians.

Obi-Wan was angry now. Yes, it was childish of him to have these thoughts and wants. And not appropriate for his position as a soon-to-be Knight. But Qui-Gon should have let his silly Padawan leave before starting in on the laughter. Qui-Gon must had recognized Obi-Wan’s indignation, for his master squeezed his hand tightly to get his attention.

“Oh, my little love,” Qui-Gon whispered, his voice so fond. It reminded Obi-Wan of all the time Qui-Gon had smile indulgently at him, before pointing to the small details Obi-Wan had missed that resulted in his temper tantrum in the first place. “Is that what you think? That you are not there?”

“You named all the tattoos, Master. None had the name Obi-Wan.”

“No, Padawan, I did not.”

“Please, Master. You don’t have to make me feel better. It doesn’t matter. I will meditate and let the feelings go as all Jedi should. Now, please. You must rest.”

“I am not trying to make you feel better. Yes, Anakin had asked about the flowers. And yes, I have named them all. But, for Force’s sake, Obi-Wan. Think! I did not name all of my tattoos.”

“I do not understand, Master.”

Qui-Gon sighed. Obi-Wan hated that sound. He had never wanted to disappointed Qui-Gon, but he could not decipher the meaning behind his master’s words.

“The fourth flower on my arm is for Xanatos.” At this, Obi-Wan looked to his master in confusion. “I got it at the very beginning of his apprenticeship. I was full of pride and hope for my new student. So young and vibrant. And when that did not end well... You know what happened, Obi-Wan. I shut down. And I vowed that there will never be another flower on my skin. Yet, his flower was not the last.”

Yes. Obi-Wan understood that. Tahl’s flower had followed Xanatos’. But he still could not understand what this had to do with him.

“But Tahl’s flower was not the next thing that I got after Xanatos,” Qui-Gon continued. Obi-Wan stilled. His mind tried its hardest and failed to catch up to this conversation. Qui-Gon looked so sad now. Obi-Wan wished that he had never brought this up. Or that he could understand what his master was saying, so he could bring the conversation to an end.

“I was so lost after Xani. But you see. There was a boy. So small but so fierce. He had eyes the colors of a spring storm and hair with the shades of the warmest fire.” Qui-Gon had let go of his hand and reached up to wiped at Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan did not realize he was crying, but he knew of nothing beside his master’s voice. “You see, Obi-Wan. This boy taught me to care again. He saved my life over and over. And I have been so proud of him since the day I first called him Padawan. So, you see, my little love. There is not a flower for you, because you are not a flower. To me, you are forever the fiercest of vines. Vines that connected all the flowers of my life. Vines that give nourishments. Vines that protect. Without you, love, there would have been no flowers. Can you not see? That you are the most important part that makes this whole?”

Obi-Wan was sobbing openly now. Too weak from weeks of worry to contain himself any longer. And his master’s words. They undid him. He did not deserve to be what Qui-Gon saw him as. But damned it all. He was going to try. Try to be that and more.

“Come here, Obi-Wan. Let me hold you.” Qui-Gon took his hand again and tugged him onto the bed.

“The healers,” Obi-Wan managed between sobs, already halfway onto the bed.

“Hush. They will not be back until morning. We can deal with them then. Just let me hold you now.” Obi-Wan nodded and pushed his face into the crook of Qui-Gon’s neck, carefully wrapping his arm low on Qui-Gon’s stomach.

“I love you, Qui-Gon.”

“And I love you. But that is a conversation I like to continue when I am no longer bed-bound.” Obi-Wan flushed at this and pushed his face further into the pillow. “Rest now, love. I have you.”

And Obi-Wan fell asleep to the rhythmic beats of his master’s heart and the thought that flowers were overrated anyway. It was much preferable to be a vine.


End file.
